


Beyond the horizon(tal)

by Syrena_of_the_lake



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake
Summary: Missing M-rated scenes from "Where sky and water meet," in which Caspian is a werewolf, and Lucy and Ramandu’s daughter are the cure.
Relationships: Caspian/Lucy Pevensie/Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6
Collections: Lucian Exchange 2019





	Beyond the horizon(tal)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WingedFlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Where sky and water meet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638158) by [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake). 



> (in a deep, authoritative James Earl Jones voice) None of this ever happened, and I was never here.

“Where sky and water meet?” Eustace repeated. “That’s the horizon, obviously — which is no help at all, because you can’t actually get there, can you? It’s always out of reach.”

“In a round world, perhaps,” said Caspian.

Lucy kept her face turned to the wind, because she needed an excuse for the sudden red in her cheeks. Thank the stars that Caspian answered every bit as logically and literally as Eustace had posed the question. Because all she could think about was how just last night Caspian had brought her to the brink of her own _horizon_ , and taken her straight over the edge...

“Down, down, down!” cried Reepicheep.

Lucy closed her eyes. _Change the subject, change the subject, please Aslan let them change the subject..._

“Thar she blows,” Edmund murmured in her ear.

Lucy squeaked. 

Caspian, Eustace and Reepicheep all paused to regard her.

“My fault,” said Edmund cheerfully. “I snuck up on her.”

“That was the worst pirate accent I’ve ever heard.” Lucy strove for light and airy and utterly normal.

Caspian’s eyes dilated, so she probably didn’t succeed.

“What did he say?” asked Eustace.

“Nothing!” Lucy and Edmund chorused hastily.

“Just a bad pun,” Edmund added in explanation without explaining anything, a talent Lucy had always wished she could acquire for times such as these. Before she could hit him or thank him (or both, both was always good), he deftly shepherded Eustace and Reepicheep up to the helm, leaving Lucy free to scramble up the mast to the crow’s nest.

Naturally, Caspian followed her. 

“What _did_ Edmund say?” 

Lucy sniffed. “It was neither at all accurate nor in good taste,” she tried to explain without explaining.

Caspian waited patiently. The wind tugged his hair across his eyes. He never blinked, even when Lucy reached out to brush away the tumbled curls.

“Well,” she hedged, “maybe partially accurate.”

Caspian’s eyebrows rose. (Were they thicker than they used to be? Or had they been apart for so long that her memories of his face were blurred?) The eyebrows waggled suggestively. 

“All right!” she burst out, unable to keep the laughter at bay any longer. “It was a terrible pun in terrible taste, and it was _entirely_ accurate.”

“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” said Caspian. He stroked his chin. Lucy’s eyes followed the motion of his fingers. His grin was swift like the sunrise. 

“Everyone can see us up here, you know,” she felt obliged to point out.

“They can’t see _everything_.”

* * *

That changed, of course, when Eustace turned into a dragon.

Even though he had read _some_ of the right sort of books (and hadn’t Lucy been impressed and appalled by turns when she found them in Harold and Alberta’s library), Eustace was still just a boy. And while Lucy and Caspian were undoubtedly consenting adults, no matter how you counted the years, their enthusiastic activities in the crow’s nest were not as discreet from above as they were from below. It was unfortunate, but under the circumstances Lucy hardly thought she could be blamed for forgetting her cousin had wings. 

The shock sent Eustace tumbling from the sky, and the splash when he hit the water was enough to drench Lucy and Caspian all the way up in the crow’s nest.

Lucy didn’t mind in the slightest. She loved the feel of water cascading over her, running through her hair like a lover’s hands, coursing down her body, leaving salt and breathlessness in its wake. Caspian shook himself like a wet dog, all without letting his concentration — or his hands — slip. His tongue was everywhere (and surely it was rougher than it had been metely days ago?), and Lucy decided apologies to her cousin could wait.

Eustace wouldn’t meet their eyes for _days,_ even after his Undragoning.

She should have regretted it, but she and Caspian found such delightful ways to fill the time while Eustace learned chess from Edmund and sword-fighting from Reepicheep and generally avoided them at every turn.

The idyll couldn’t last, of course. The horizon grew closer every day, and an island loomed where the vanishing point should have been if the world were round. Caspian’s eyes shone gold in the starlight, and the moon grew in the sky, and Lucy held him close and prayed the heavens would slow their dance for just one more night.

* * *

Ramandu’s island was nothing like Lucy had expected. Neither was the star’s daughter.

The moment she saw Lunara, something clenched within her. At first Lucy assumed it was jealousy — she saw Caspian’s golden eyes flash with desire and something deeper, like adoration — and Lucy braced herself to let him go. She had always been the tide, surging in response to the pull of the moon, and it would be only natural for her to recede now, in favor of the star.

But Lucy’s own eyes were also drawn to Lunara, who stood cool and serene yet who blazed like the sun.

Gradually it dawned on Lucy that the quivering tightness was not jealousy curling in her stomach, but something warmer, lower, deeper.

“I am given by Aslan to the Eastern Sky,” declared Lunara. Her voice pealed like a bell and resounded in Lucy’s veins. At her side, Caspian stood tense and still, a wolf waiting to spring.

“I am Lucy, given by Aslan to the Eastern Sea.” Her words rang out, but she barely heard herself over the roaring in her ears.

Ramandu spoke a word Lucy could never recall afterwards. The stone doors opened with a low rumble. Then she and Caspian and Lunara were running on golden sands, through starlit surf, hand in hand in hand. The waters laughed with them. The shore stretched beyond sight, curving like this world did not, bending enticingly beyond the horizon. 

Lucy tripped deliberately and tumbled into the sea. Surfacing, she licked her lips and somehow was not surprised at all to find the water sweet. “Like Reep’s song,” she murmured.

Caspian pulled her to her feet. “There are lilies in your hair,” he said roughly, and he pressed a velvet petal to her cheek.

“Welcome to the utter East,” said Lunara. She cupped her hands, filled them with water and turned to Lucy.

Lucy drank her fill first, then Caspian, and still Lunara’s hands brimmed over with water as clear and bright as the dawn. 

“Is the curse broken?” Lucy dared to ask.

Lunara smiled. “Not yet, my valiant queen.” She pointed to the sky. Even as they watched, the moon swelled from a faint crescent to nearly full. It hung pale and distant in the bright sky. “We three must pass one night together, before the wolf can give way.”

“Just one night?” Lucy could not help the words.

Lunara’s answering smile was slow and sly and full of promise. 

Caspian shook his head and tried to pull away. “We must not,” he protested in anguish. “I will hurt you! The moon—”

“Has little power here,” said Lunara, “and we will banish what is left.”

“Together,” Lucy added fiercely.

Caspian’s resistance crumbled, and he shifted even as both women embraced him. Their limbs entwined, Lunara’s faintly shining, Lucy’s slick with perspiration and seawater, Caspian’s sprouting fur, thick and luxurious. 

There was no fear.

Lucy dragged her hands through Caspian’s ruff. Surely his fur had never been so silky — but how could she know? She had never been able to touch him like this before. The werewolf had always raged against its steel bars, forcing her to back away. Now, Lucy could revel in his closeness, the heat of his body, the unexpected softness when she sank into his arms. She could not keep her hands off him. Her fingers brushed Lunara’s, both buried in sweet-smelling fur, and Lucy laughed aloud with joy.

“Do not fear to touch us,” Lunara murmured. “You cannot hurt us here.”

Caspian’s eyes widened. They were his own dark eyes — not golden — and though his face was distorted by a muzzle, it was _his_.

Lucy kissed him on the nose. It was cold. She giggled. 

A whine escaped Caspian’s throat.

Lunara stroked his silky ears and Lucy’s tangled hair and whispered of things beyond even the strangely curved horizon, beyond the edge of the world, where stars wheeled in the heavens and danced with joy around the moon.

Caspian’s iron self control finally broke. He howled, and Lucy joined him (she had been taught to sing by wolves, after all). Lunara’s song rose in delicate counterpoint, crystal-pure and wordless notes.

Caspian buried his face in Lucy’s chest, and she stroked his head until she felt him relax. He nuzzled her breasts, and his soft fur on her bare skin nearly undid her. Then he gripped her waist — carefully, she could feel his restraint even now, along with the cold, smooth curves of his claws — and Lunara straddled him from behind, wrapping her shining limbs around his torso. Caspian’s tail lashed in time with Lucy’s stuttering heartbeats. 

He growled. Pressed so close to him, Lucy shuddered with the reverberations, and her pulse raced with excitement. She turned her face to Lunara, a flower seeking the sun, and their lips met. 

She tasted like Lucy’s fireflower cordial: sweeter and wilder than honey fresh from the comb, a breath of cold from the highest mountain and a flush of heat from a fire, and Lucy’s lips tingled even after they drew apart.

Whimpering, Caspian tried to shove his muzzle between them.

“Where _sky_ and _water_ meet,” Lucy said archly with whatever breath she could summon. “That means you wait your turn.” 

Affronted, he nipped her ever so lightly on the shoulder. His fangs didn’t even scratch her skin. Lucy tried to growl at him, but was laughing too hard to do it justice.

All the while, Lunara sang. 

Lucy wondered if this was what it sounded like when Narnia was born.

Then there was no more room between them for wondering, only for burgeoning joy.

* * *

Much, much later, they lay spent in each other’s arms. Even the sea had calmed. Waves hissed lightly on the shore, caressing their bare skin. 

The moon hung lazily low in the sky, full and replete.

And Caspian was human again.

Lucy brimmed with questions, wondering at the source of this magic, whether any werewolf could be cured thus or only one loved by a queen and a star’s daughter. Wondering whether she would ever feel so complete again in any world. Wondering where they would go from here — home to Narnia? Home to England? Back to Ramandu’s island? Onward to Aslan’s country? — and what would become of them there. Wondering if Caspian would be averse to a large fur rug for their bed.

“Hush,” whispered Lunara. “Questions and answers can all wait for later. Be here with us now.”

Lucy looked over at Caspian. His eyes were closed, and tears glimmered in his lashes even as he smiled. Was he sleeping, or merely _being_ , as Lunara had enjoined?

“I can’t stop thinking,” Lucy huffed in frustration.

Caspian’s fingers — calloused like a sailor’s, but blessedly human — ghosted over her thigh. Lucy’s thoughts and her breath hitched. Lunara wrapped a curl of Lucy’s hair around her fingers and tugged, gently. 

“Be here with us,” she repeated. Caspian claimed the star’s other hand and took her fingers into his mouth, one by one, sucking and nibbling and then gently blowing until even Lunara’s voice shook. 

Lucy mentally tossed her thoughts and worries out to sea and let herself drown in the moment.

Lilies floated around them, shining with their own light, resplendent in the dawn.


End file.
